Fair winding up to where the Muses haunt
In Twit'nham bowers, and for their Pope implore.
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With queenly tread;
Thou hast proud fanes above
Thy mighty dead.
Yet wears thy Tiber's shore
A mournful mien:-
Rome, Rome, thou art no more
As thou hast been.
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RGB: 118 13 13
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RGB: 221 162 79
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RGB: 66 6 31
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RGB: 19 169 184
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RGB: 216 213 141
But like thine own eagle that soars to the sun
Thou springest from bondage and leavest behind thee
A name which before thee no mortal hath won.